


Silver Bells and Anarchy

by facemanpeck



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Christmas, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facemanpeck/pseuds/facemanpeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while since Chibs received anything in the mail, and he doesn't trust this small box sitting on his doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Bells and Anarchy

Chibs almost didn’t see the package.

The mailman, in a fit of alarming stupidity, had put it behind the overflowing garbage bin sitting next to the front door. It was already half-buried in crushed beer cans and fast food wrapping. He only noticed it because it stopped his door opening all the way.

One eyebrow arched, he bent over and picked it up. His name and address were written on it in a neat hand he didn’t recognize, but there was no return address. He felt himself go slowly colder - he’d been blown up too many times not to be wary of small, mysterious boxes suddenly appearing on his doorstep.

He stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him, turning the little box over and over in his hands. It certainly didn’t feel heavy enough to be any sort of explosive. A body part, maybe? But it felt lighter than that, too. Besides, he wasn’t aware of anybody having it out for him. Not at the moment, anyway.

He walked through to the kitchen, leaning up against the table. He stared hard at the box, as though it would develop a mouth and tell him what was inside. He flicked stray flakes of snow from the brown wrap, then shook his hair out, dislodging the fat snowflakes that had managed to stick on his way back from the club.

That cold feeling in his chest hadn’t gone away, and it had nothing to do with winter settling over Charming. Hesitantly, he pulled at the edge of the paper. It ripped under his fingers, and soon the box was sitting in his hand, looking small and somehow menacing. He sniffed, frowning down at it.

“Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head at his own cowardice in the face of opening his mail. He tore his finger through the tape holding the box shut and yanked the stupid thing open.

And found … gloves. He pulled them out, confused - a nice pair of riding gloves, black, with the Harley Davidson logo on the inside. They seemed expensive - at least, they were a lot sturdier than the ones he usually wore. His frown deepened, and he turned the gloves over. A slip of paper fell from the right one.

He caught it before it could flutter all the way to the floor, and unfolded it. There was a short block of writing on it. _Da,_ it read, _it’s getting colder here. Must be colder for you, too. Stay safe. Love, Kerrianne._

All the coldness rushed out of him, and he felt a tingle run up his spine. Christmas. He’d fucking forgotten - Christmas had been two days ago. He looked at the gloves again, then back at the note, pressing his lips together. He slipped the gloves on and flexed his fingers. Warm, and probably good protection against a broken finger or two, which would come in useful more often than he’d like. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. Brushing his thumb over the note from Kerrianne, he muttered, “Merry Christmas, baby.”


End file.
